The Everlasting Last Supper

The original is a huge mural painted into the stucco on the refectory wall in an out-of-the-way convent called Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan. We made a point to go out there one day to see the weathered version of Leonardo Da Vinci’s treasured artwork just prior to its latest restoration. Far from being a museum or art gallery, the venue had just a few visitors allowing us space and time to observe the painting. I was somewhat taken aback by the fact that it was located in what Presbyterians would refer to as the fellowship hall just above the door leading to the kitchen. Since that first encounter with this all-too famous and familiar masterpiece, I have been plagued by its presence in all sorts of settings and situations.

Many years later, we wandered into the beautiful cathedral in Cusco, Peru, and saw yet another version with a lot of interesting details to distinguish it from a European last supper. Probably the most notable difference is that the meal’s main dish is cuy — the Peruvian delicacy of guinea pig! Also, Jesus and his disciples are drinking chicha, which is a traditional Peruvian corn drink. It is believed that the artist painted Judas, the disciple who betrayed Jesus, to bear a resemblance to Francisco Pizarro, the Spanish conquistador responsible for the fall of the Inca empire!

When I arrived at the West End parish, the last thing on my mind was the Last Supper. This little “church in the wildwood” had served the small congregation for three-fourths of a century and was quite quaint in most of its decorum with the exception of a tacky paint-by-number rendition of the Leonardo’s epic work hanging over the mantle in the women’s parlor. Early on, in order to attract new members who might have artistic sensitivities, I quietly removed this lackluster reproduction and hid it in a closet. To my chagrin, the painting reappeared, as it would following other attempts to rid us of this Supper at Last by hiding it in a variety of places. Then, like some haunted miracle or bad penny, it would find its nail over the mantle. In short order, the parable of the paranoid pastor and his painting became common knowledge among some of the flock. A West End underground Da Vinci code group emerged with the primary goal of nabbing the culprit who kept bringing it back.

As a Presbyterian pastor I had to mind my P’s & Q’s when it came to observing the Holy Communion. In the early days a large table cloth covered the elements, mainly to keep the flies away before the ceremony started. We then moved from serving the seated congregants with those tiny shot glasses in a round tray to intinction, inviting the participants to come forward to receive the elements. We also moved from “adults only” to letting the kids take the elements even though some adults argued that they wouldn’t understand. On Christmas Eve, each row would come down and sit on the first pew to be personally served by the minister and always with an Elder as specified by the Book of Order, or I could have ended up in hell. That’s where I heard one of the best responses to the Last Supper that came from a preschooler when I was saying — while serving — “This is the body and blood of Christ”. She exclaimed “Yuck!” Who said kids don’t get it?